


Picking Up the Pieces- Coda

by MissBayliss



Series: The Pieces Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBayliss/pseuds/MissBayliss
Summary: So, I’ve been tinkering with this one for a while. It’s set seven years after the events of ‘Picking Up the Pieces’ (which is set after the events of ‘Taking Some Time’… it’s a whole thing. You should read those first.) This is set after 9.11 First Born, and leads into 9.12 Sharp Teeth (because Jensen was deliciously sick during filming, and this just begged to be written). So spoilers for everything that happened before that time, obviously. And spoilers for the two fics it precedes. Basically Dean is sick and carrying the weight of the world (isn’t he always?) and ends up in Riley’s area on a night he’s particularly vulnerable. Angst and feels ensue. You’ve been warned.





	Picking Up the Pieces- Coda

_7 years later…_

_March 2015_

 

It was just a standard Tuesday night off, stretched out on the bed, cup of coffee curling off steam on the bedside table and her hands wrapped around a good book, when she heard a sound she never thought she’d hear again. It was the sound of an engine. Riley was no stranger to hotted up muscle cars and Harley Davidson’s, she worked in a bar for goodness sake, but this was different. This was a sound she had been used to a long time ago, a sound she’d grown to hope for. Some nights she lay awake and imagined it’s purr, it’s growl, thrumming down the street and back into her life. But it was only ever a dream, or a wish. So why shouldn’t this be the same as every night before?

She listened to the engine die and the door creak and she closed her eyes, not even sure what she was hoping for.

The pounding on her door made her drop the book. The knocking came again a moment later, but this time it was softer, staggered, weak.

She got off the bed and threw on her red silk robe, wrapping it tight and drawing it closed with the rope. She looked out the window.

_It couldn't be._

"Dean?"

He was leaning against the doorframe and almost fell inside as the door opened.

"Oh my god, Dean..."

"Heya, Riley," he panted, voice deeper than it used to be, harsher.

He stepped towards her and she welcomed him. Arms wrapping around, bodies pressing together. He was warm and he shuddered under her touch. She angled her head towards his neck, breathing in his scent, but he broke away quickly, turning to cough against his jacket sleeve.

"What -" she wanted to ask so many questions but he was still standing on her doorstep, and he looked ready to drop, eyes fever glazed, nose and lips red raw and chapped. "Come inside."

Dean straightened and walked in, a swagger in his steps. He braced a hand on the back of her couch as she closed the door behind him.

"Sit down, Dean," she said. His name felt weird leaving her lips, it had been so long.

Dean grunted a response and sat heavily on her couch, not taking off his jacket.

She sat down next to him, his eyes studying her movements.

"So, what brings you to my doorstep, Mr Winchester?"

Dean dragged his sleeve under his nose and sniffed.

"Needed somewhere to crash, I guess. Sorry to spring this on you."

He looked world weary. Different to how he used to be, and somehow it looked like he was carrying more weight than before.

She had a horrific thought.

"Dean... where's Sam?"

Dean quirked his lips in a small smile, "He's okay. But we, uh, we went our separate ways."

Riley's insides squirmed. If there was ever a pair more inseparable it was those brothers. Her heart broke. What could possibly have happened to tear them apart?

Dean shivered, his trembling hands balling into fists.

"I thought maybe you might have moved," Dean's voice was halting, "or..."

Riley put a hand on Dean's back.

"We don't have to talk about anything right now. You're shivering. Why don't you take a shower? When did you last eat?"

Dean cleared his throat and sniffed deeply, “I, uh… I dunno.”

“Just hang on,” Riley stood, “I’ll get you some water.”

“I’d prefer a beer…”

Riley stared at him, wondering if he was joking but there was no humour in his eyes, “Are you… you drinking again?”

Dean lowered his head, “Yeah, I kinda never stopped.”

Riley stood still, wondering what to make of it. Wondering if he took seriously all the things he went through so many years ago. The seriousness of his alcohol problem and the damage it had caused.

“It’s fine,” Dean huffed, smirking, “I’m okay. I mean… you don't have to worry about that.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “But I think it’s water that you need.”

Dean nodded, dissolving into a wet coughing fit.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” she muttered, listening to Dean cough as she went through to the kitchen.

Dean was sick, aside from whatever else he had going on. He was hurt too, maybe. She couldn’t tell. Water, food, medicine, shower, rest. That was what he needed. In that order.

She returned to the lounge room quickly, offering the water to Dean.

“Here.”

Dean looked up, like he hadn’t noticed her coming back, “Thanks,” he rasped.

“Dean, I need you to tell me if you’re hurt anywhere,” she had her hand on the back of his neck, fingers in his short hair. She could feel the heat pouring off him.

Dean shook his head minutely, placing the glass on the coffee table.

Riley sighed looking at the very little he’d drunk, “Okay,” she said, “I’m gonna grab you some Tylenol and something to eat. You’re burning up.”

Dean didn’t reply, he just leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes.

Riley contemplated calling a doctor, or an ambulance. She wasn’t sure how high Dean’s temperature was but she knew it was bad. She decided half a second later to handle the situation herself. Obviously Dean had come to her because he trusted her, because he needed help, and she wasn’t about to betray that trust.

She brought Dean the Tylenol and two pieces of plain toast with a bit of butter.

“Hey, Dean,” she lay a hand on Dean’s forehead and felt him tilt towards her slightly, but he was out cold. Passed out from the fever, or exhaustion, or something else. His forehead was searing hot and wet with sweat.

“Dean? Come on. I need you to take some pills. Then you can sleep, I promise.”

Dean stirred and cracked open bleary eyes, the green of his iris’s flashing brightly. He furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment before blinking widely and sitting up, a cough gripping him. She patted his back comfortingly.

“Here, Dean. Take some Tylenol, and there’s some toast if you feel like eating.”

Dean gratefully tipped the Tylenol into his mouth and swallowed them with a sip of water. He rubbed his forehead, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“Riley, I’m sorry I came,” his voice was gruff, like it was ready to fail him, “You don’t need this crap.”

“Dean,” Riley hushed him, brushing a hand over his forehead and through his hair, “I’m _so_ happy to see you.”

Dean let a ghost of a smile grace his lips, but it was gone as he started coughing again.

“ _Son of a bitch…_ ” he mumbled.

“Okay,” she said, sitting forward, “We’re gonna get you out of those clothes. Do you think you could stand a shower?”

Dean rubbed his face, sniffing thickly, “Yeah,” he groaned, “God, I probably stink.”

Riley laughed, “Come on, honey.”

 

…

 

Dean hunched on the floor of Riley’s bathroom, one elbow resting on the toilet seat, holding him up, his head in his hand. He felt like crap. He felt worse than crap. Things with him and Sam were the worst they’d ever been. And they had been _bad._

He swallowed thickly, his throat in ribbons. He’d been having a shower when the coughs had torn out of him, leaving him breathless. He coughed so hard he threw up the two pieces of toast and the Tylenol he’d had only moments before. It was all the food he’d fed his body in two days, unable to bring himself to eat before that.

He’d gotten sick soon after he’d walked away from Sam and Castiel. Just a cold, nothing to worry about. Working through it, going hunting with Crowley and taking on Cain’s mark, had inevitably made things worse. And tonight he’d found himself in Riley’s neck of the woods. His eyes were blurry and watering. He hadn’t been able to get warm all day, no matter how many layers he piled on. He’d gone through his meagre tissue supply in an hour and spent the rest of the day sneezing into his sleeve. His head hurt from the pressure. His lungs rattled when he coughed and everything he did left him wheezing. He was dripping in sweat, and now he was half naked on a cold tile floor, clinging to a toilet. This was about as sucky as things got.

He heard a tap at the door.

“Dean? You okay?”

Dean took a breath in and coughed it out.

_Okay, it could be worse._

Dean’s lack of response had Riley sitting down beside him and her hand on his shoulder before he even knew what was happening.

“You alright, honey?”

Dean shook his head and tried not to cry.

“Threw up… the tylenol.” He rasped out.

“It’s okay, babe. We’ve got more.”

He could barely focus on what she was saying. There was this rushing water noise, loud in his ears, the hum of his fever.

“Dean? Come on. Open your eyes.”

He hadn’t realised he’d closed them.

When he opened them he was leaning back against the wall and he hadn’t remembered getting there.

“You with me, hotshot?”

_Hotshot?_

“Riley?” he squinted in the harsh fluros of the bathroom.

She huffed a laugh, “Yeah, Dean. It’s me. Come on, let’s get off the floor, okay?”

“Need’a… blow my nose.”

He closed his eyes for a second again.

“Dean?”

It felt like a monumental task to pry his eyes open, but he felt something soft in his hand and he realised Riley had pushed some tissues into it.

Attempting to blow his nose left him even more out of breath than before, and just a couple of tissues was not going to be sufficient for him to clear his head.

He finished up with a congested sneeze into the already full tissues.

“Okay, come on. Off the ground now.”

He’d forgotten Riley was still sitting there.

She grabbed at his bare arm, trying to help lever him off the floor. She stopped, fingers running over his skin.

“Dean, what did you do to your arm?”

Dean furrowed his brow.

“Cain…”

“Cain?” She looked confused, but kept moving, her hand on his back now.

“He gave it to me.”

She sighed and gripped him tight, “Stand up, sweetie. I’ve got you.”

 

…

 

Riley managed to get Dean standing, and stumbled with him to the bed where he collapsed in a heap. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and she looked over his hunched back. This was… _wrong._ The scar from his spinal surgery was gone. Not faded. But _gone_. His shoulder, that once had such a large pronounced handprint scar was also gone. He still had a tattoo on his chest but other than that, things were different. And she couldn’t explain it. But there were a lot of things that were unexplainable about Dean Winchester.

“Riley,” Dean shivered, curling into a ball on the mattress.

“Yeah, Dean?” she carted her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she hushed him, “You need to take some more pills, okay? Your fever’s too high.”

Dean shoved a fist in front of his mouth and let loose explosive coughs that rocked the bed on its legs.

Riley rubbed his bare back, fingers skimming where the scar used to be.

Dean shivered under her touch.

“Hang on, baby. It’s gonna be okay…”

 

…

 

Riley spent the night, replacing cool washcloths on Dean’s over heated body, the fan spinning overhead. Dean was out of it, completely. Tears wet his cheeks. He tossed and turned, and muttered things that Riley… wished she could un-hear.

There was one moment of lucidity, where Dean grabbed her wrist tight.

_“I shouldn’t be here… I’m poison.”_

_“No, you’re not, Dean... You can stay right here if you want… You can stay.”_

Dean went to sleep eventually, breathing uneven, scratchy in his throat, his voice hoarse from the crying and muttering, and the mourning of someone called Kevin.

Riley was sitting at the table, breathing in the steam from her coffee mug, almost close to tears herself at the broken shell of a man that lay shivering and whimpering in her bed. The sun was coming in the windows hot. She closed her eyes.

A noise made her look up.

“Hey.”

Dean was standing, leaning on the wall, face pale.

“Hey,” she put down her mug, “I didn’t expect to see you up so soon.”

Dean gripped his hand around the corner of the wall and pressed his face into his elbow, sneezing exhaustedly.

“ _Huh’ **TKSCH** hu!_”

“Bless you,” Riley offered, noticing he’d found and put his t-shirt back on.

Dean wavered where he stood and Riley crossed the room, putting a hand under his elbow, “You need to sit down.”

Dean flinched away from her touch briefly and she had to hide the shock it caused her. Dean never used to flinch away from her. He never withdrew, not around her. It was obvious the passing years had not been kind to Dean Winchester, and clearly he didn’t have anyone he could trust.

Riley led him to the nearest dining table chair and sat him down. He placed his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, sniffing thickly and clearing his throat painfully.

“How are you feeling?” She ran her hand up and down his back.

Dean cleared his throat again, his voice breaking, “Better.”

Riley sat in the chair next to him, he still wasn’t looking at her.

“You… said some things last night.”

Dean looked up and if he could break her heart in one glance, he just did.

“Riley…”

“It’s okay,” she breathed, stopping him, “I just want to understand, Dean.”

Dean looked away, swiping a hand under his nose.

“There are scars missing on your body,” she gently pried.

Dean shook his head slightly, like he didn’t want to explain, or maybe he was just too tired to.

“A lot’s happened,” was all he rasped out, before his body shook with coughs again and she decided now wasn’t the time for a discussion.

“Okay, we can talk later. You need to go back to bed.”

“I’m fine,” he huffed.

“No, you’re not,” she said firmly, “You need more sleep. You need water and some food in your tummy. You’re not fine. You’re a mess.”

Dean smirked.

“What?”

“You said ‘tummy’.”

Riley rolled her eyes, “Oh, shut up,” she laughed.

“I’ll be okay,” Dean pushed his chair back, “I should get going anyway.”

He stood up and the chair rocked behind him as he stumbled to keep his feet under him.

“Dean, for God’s sake,” she grabbed his arm and held him upright.

He put his other hand to his forehead, “Okay, maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” she smirked.

Dean’s eyes flicked over the curves of her face, his lips forming a nostalgic smile, eyes glinting. She breathed in, waiting for him to say it. To say he missed her. But instead he swallowed slowly and looked down, face hardening, walls back up.

“Come on, tiger,” she said softly, pulling him towards the bedroom.

Walking through to the bedroom Dean folded over, coughing. She could feel him trembling, and the thought once again crossed her mind that this was too bad for her to handle on her own.

“Easy,” she breathed, running a hand over his back and pulling him a little harder towards the bed.

He crumpled like a house of cards and collapsed onto the mattress breathing hard.

She returned with a cool washcloth as he opened bleary eyes on her. He closed them again before he spoke.

“I missed you.”

 

…

 

The next time Dean woke the sun was low in the sky, casting golden patterns on the walls of the bedroom. The soft tan skin of Riley’s legs was caught in a sunbeam that stretched out over the bed, onto the pillow, making him blink against it. She was humming as she read, a hand aimlessly skimming back and forth through his short hair.

“Hey,” his voice didn’t come out. It was just a weak rasp of air, grating against his damaged vocal cords, but thankfully he didn’t have to repeat himself.

“Your fever broke,” she said, still facing her book.

“Riley –“ he got a croak out that time.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving. You’re still not well enough. You’re going to have a proper dinner tonight and stay here another night. No arguments.”

Dean blinked, furrowing his brow, “Bossy.”

Riley smiled, eyes never leaving the book, “Go back to sleep, Dean.”

 

…

 

Dean was weak, his voice all but gone. He’d put on his clean clothes, fresh from the dryer, and was sitting at the dining table. While Riley cooked the house filled with the delicious aroma of a home cooked meal. Dean was surprised he could smell anything at all.

“Here you go, babe. Don’t eat too much if it makes you feel sick.”

Riley placed a bowl of steaming chicken and vegetable broth in front of him, a round, floury dumpling floating on top. The steam permeated the congestion in his sinuses and he turned to stifle a sneeze in the crook of his arm.

“ _Huh’ngxt!_ … Smells amazing,” he sniffed thickly.

“Bless you,” she smiled, eating with one leg tucked up on her chair so her arm wrapped snuggly around her knee, “Now, eat something before you waste away.”

Dean laughed, which made him cough, but that was okay. He was in good hands.

Once Dean started eating he realised how hungry he was. He was already on his second helping when the conversation turned sharply into more serious territory, which he somehow knew it would.

“You can’t blame me for being worried,” Riley said, as gently as she possibly could.

Dean tried to hide his wry grin, “To be honest, I thought you’d have forgotten all about me.”

He took another mouthful, waiting for a response that took longer to come than he thought it would. He looked up and her expression was shocked.

“Dean… I could _never_ forget about you.”

Dean gulped down, feeling razor blades tug in his throat, “I thought for sure you’d have settled down.”

Riley raised one eyebrow, “Do I look like the settling down type?”

Dean laughed, “You’d be surprised.”

Riley stared at him for a beat, “You?”

Dean nodded, feeling the heartache grip in his chest, “A lifetime ago.”

The next few minutes they ate in silence until Dean couldn’t wait anymore.

“Riley, you didn’t… wait around for me… did you?”

Riley let out a controlled breath and dropped her gaze, a teary-eyed smile ghosting across her face.

“No, Dean, I didn’t wait. But you always were a hard act to follow.”

Dean shook his head, sputtering a cough into his fist. He wished she’d found someone else. He wished she’d moved on. Then all this would be… easier.

“I’m nothing special… seriously,” he rasped, his voice breaking.

“Yes, you are,” Riley said so matter-of-factly that it hit him like a tonne of bricks, “And I know you’re not staying around, I know you didn’t even want to stay this long, but I need to know that when you leave here you’re going to look after yourself, because I – I’m not gonna be there to make sure you do.”

“I know… I, uh, haven’t been in a real good place lately and I… I let myself get run down. Stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Dean looked up at her and as good as it was to see her, he wished he hadn’t come at all.

“It’s been… a rough couple of years,” Dean felt himself choke up.

How did Riley have this effect on him? Why was he always so vulnerable around her? Raw and naked. His frayed nerve endings so close to the surface.

“You’ve lost people, haven't you?”

Dean clenched his jaw and swallowed, refusing to look at her.

“Bobby?” she whispered.

Dean dropped his fork into his bowl with a clatter and put his hand to his head, feeling suddenly much worse.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

He had no idea how she knew, but then again, he talked a lot in his sleep apparently.

She was quickly beside him, pulling his head against her stomach. His arm wrapped around her waist and gripped tightly to her hip, letting himself be comforted.

After a while Riley pulled away slightly, sensing his weight dipping into her more and more as his energy dwindled.

“You finished with your dinner, honey?”

Dean nodded, letting out at raspy, “Yeah.”

Riley smiled, taking his bowl, “Bed for you, mister.”

 

…

 

Dean hadn’t slept so much in all his life, but there was no denying he needed it. When he was conscious he was coughing, or sneezing, or feeling pretty much like hell, so sleep was actually preferable, as much as he wanted to get out of Riley’s hair. It was hard for Dean to let himself be cared for. He’d woken several times through the night, sometimes coughing, sometimes in a fit of sneezing that left his head pounding, and once calling out for a family that he no longer had. Riley was a champ through all of it, somehow always soothing him back to sleep just with her touch.

 _Yeah,_ he should never have come.

 

…

 

Riley woke that morning next to Dean, his hand draped and heavy across her waist. And she wished she could have slept a bit longer, because the glint of the sun coming in, the chirp of the birds, the warm and much steadier breath on the back of her neck all signified a new day. And in a few hours, Dean would be gone… _again._

Seven years ago, when he’d come stumbling into her bar, a mess of broken bones and torn ligaments, but still exuding charm, this heroic quality that made him captivate a room, she hadn’t realised how hopelessly in love she would become. Riley wasn’t a dainty flower. She didn’t need protection. She didn’t need anyone looking out for her. She was independent, and _happy_ that way… until Dean. And even with all his flaws, this baggage he carried around that threatened to _cripple_ him at any moment, _she_ still felt safe around him. Like he was watching out for her. He cared so much about everyone else there was little room for him to care about himself. It was his downfall then, and as far as she could see, it was his downfall now.

It wasn’t that she regretted ever meeting him, her life would always be better simply by him being in it, but lying there, preparing herself to say goodbye _again_ , she wished he hadn’t come at all.

It started with a stronger huff of air against the back of her neck, a gentle throat clearing. His grip around her waist tightened, tugging her back till she was flush against him. His body was still warmer than it strictly should have been, but considering how sick he was when he’d got there, this was a definite improvement.

She sighed, whispering a soft, “Morning.”

“Morning,” Dean’s voice was deep with sleep and gravelly, rumbling in his chest, sending vibrations through her body.

She quivered against him, and Dean huffed behind her.

“What crazy ideas are you getting?” she could hear the smile in his voice.

She turned over until she faced him, eyebrow cocked with as much _subtext_ as she could manage.

“I’ll get you sick,” he said, with a pointed cough towards his shoulder.

“Has that _ever_ bothered me before?”

Dean grinned.

Oh, yeah. _This_ was happening.

 

…

 

They stayed in bed till early afternoon. At some point last night Riley had brought Dean’s duffle bags into the house for more clothes and “other things” he said he needed.

Dean was lying on his back and Riley traced circles around his left shoulder, subtly looking for the places the surgical scars had been, and seeing nothing. She would need her curiosity satisfied before he left for good.

“Dean…”

“Mm?” he grumbled, eyes peeling open.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to the scars? How are they gone?”

Dean stayed silent, looking at the ceiling as if the answer was written above him.

“You move differently than you used to – “

Dean put his hand on hers, stilling it on his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Dean smirked.

“You can tell me, Dean. You can tell me everything if you want to.”

Dean sniffed, turning sharply to the side to sneeze into his elbow, “ _Huh’ **TTSCHXT**! _ Riles, there’re things I can’t tell you. If you know it’ll just… put you in danger… I just need you to trust that I’m doing the right thing.”

Riley sighed, “I always trust you.”

Pain flashed in Dean’s eyes and he rolled over to sit up on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he sneezed again. “ _Heh’ **KKCSTHX**! _ Urgh…”

“Bless you.”

Dean cleared his throat, reaching for the tissues on the nightstand.

He sneezed four more times and Riley relaxed back and just watched him, taking in _everything._

Dean gave a low, rumbling cough when he was finished sneezing, this weird energy about him, like he was deciding whether to lie back down, or get up and leave. At the moment it looked like he’d decided a crackling came from his duffle bag in the corner, muffled words that she couldn’t quite understand.

“What is that?” she asked, as he crossed the room, pulling a police scanner out of his duffle and holding it up to his ear as the chatter went on.

He seemed to blanch as he listened, then steeled his jaw as he tucked it away.

“I gotta go,” was all he said, pulling out some clothes and getting dressed.

“What’s wrong? What was that?”

“Ah, a friend of mine’s in trouble, I think,” he pulled a black tee on over his head, “Gotta get to Wisconsin.”

“Now?” she sat up, dragging the sheet with her.

He looked at her, tugging on a pair of jeans. When he’d dragged on a beige coloured button down, that did all kinds of good things for him, he stopped, standing in the doorway.

“Riley… thanks for –“

“Dean,” she stopped him, “I don't want to hear this again.”

He looked down, pushing his lips out a little.

“Can we just skip this part?”

He cleared his throat, “Okay.”

She got off the bed and put her hands either side of his face, breathing in as she kissed him, just so she could get every little bit before he walked out that door, possibly forever this time.

When they separated Dean looked hurt but resolute.

“I put my number in your phone… Please, Dean… If you ever –“

“I thought we were skipping this part?” he smirked and, _damn him._

“Shut up,” she breathed.

“And, I will, okay?”

“Okay… now go help your friend. And stop to rest on the way, it’s like an 18 hour drive,” she nagged.

Dean laughed, coughing into his sleeve, “I will,” he lied.

And she didn’t say anything else as he left, leaving no trace that he was ever there, except for the smell of his cologne on her pillow. The car roared to life out the front and she lay back down, closing her eyes as she listened until it disappeared. And even after the sound was gone she imagined it still, solid black steel carving a line through America, and the man who carried the world behind the wheel. And for the first time in her life she prayed.

 

…

 

Riley hadn’t been to work all week, two days after Dean left she was struck down with the same bug he’d had. Luckily, though, she was the owner of MacGinley’s Bar and Grill now, so she made her own hours. She’d spent most of her time in bed, still living off the scent of Dean’s cologne on the pillows, but even that now was fading. A week to the day he left, she made herself soup and settled back in bed, now finally feeling well enough to get some reading done. She’d been on the phone to her manager that afternoon, checking in, so when her phone went off with a text message a few minutes after she’d settled down, she thought that it was him.

She almost dropped the phone.

 

**_How’s the cold treating you? – Dean._ **

****

End.


End file.
